Archive of Our Own

Hong Lu hadn’t a clue how long ago it had been since the mudflats became what they are now.

Nor did he have a clue how like ago it had been when a fairy wandered in, his cloak made of soft fabrics that didn’t scratch or feel rough against his fingers, much unlike Hong Lu’s coat. The green that fit in yet also stood out within the disgusting state of the mudflats, a glow amidst the dull muck.

Hong Lu never thought he would meet someone who would stay for so long, especially not someone who has somewhere to return to. The fairy could leave whenever he wishes, yet he stays, perched upon driftwood for most of his days, face scrunched in thought. How contemplative!

It wasn’t as if Hong Lu had a problem with the fairy’s presence, not at all! He had normalized his presence, and the two of them coexisted without even a murmur of complaint.

“Hm,” Hong Lu hums one day, “you’re still here?”

“...Still here?” The fairy repeats back to him, the fairy’s voice lighter than jingling bells, maybe even lighter than the flowing sound of the guzheng. And yet, Hong Lu hears him loud and clear, the sounds of the shifting waters of the mudflats and the light breeze being the only noises that separate them.

It’s just them.

“Yes, you’re still here. I thought a being such as yourself would’ve left by now?”

“Why?” the fairy quirks a wary eyebrow.

“I thought you would have been on your way by now! Does the sight and stench of filth not repulse you, someone so graceful yet so clumsy?” Hong Lu leaves out the word ‘endearingly’ that he wished to add before ‘clumsy’, it seemed a bit too soon to say such a thing. A single word truly made a world of difference.

“W-Well… no,” the reply Hong Lu receives is a stammer. The fairy can’t help but feel his cheeks flush with embarrassment at his clumsiness being called out, not wanting to remember his various trips and stumbles.

“Oh? And why is that?” Hong Lu leaned closer, the pearl on his chest shining as if reacting to his curiosity, “You have a home to return to, do you not? Why would you wish to stay here? The driftwood couldn’t be that comfortable!” Hong Lu chuckles at his own jest, “Do you not enjoy the woodland meadows, prancing around with nymphs and satyrs, naiads and pixies, perhaps even being the closest a being could get to the hands of the gods and goddesses?” Hong Lu asked with a light heart and a genuine tone.

“U-Uhm…”

Hong Lu backpedals, realizing that his barrage of questions had only served to overwhelm the only company he had had for the last few months, the first company he had had in a long time before that.

“My apologies. I haven’t had company in a painful while,” Hong Lu sighs, his expression softened from his enthusiasm just moments ago.

“...” The fairy doesn’t respond.

They gaze at each other in silence, two souls amidst the sludge.

“Maybe… there’s a more concise question I can ask,” Hong Lu said gently.

“...Do you want to go home?” Hong Lu questioned.

The fairy blinks for a moment… Hong Lu can see the way his eyes fill with uncertainty, almost like an all-encompassing haze.

“......”

And so, the silence returns.

Yet it doesn’t last nearly as long as before.

“I…”

The fairy stills, thinking over his answer before deciding it was adequate,

“I don’t know if I want to go home,” he answers, voice akin to the last breeze of autumn, an attempt at strength, an attempt at certainty, only to end in a gentle death.

Hong Lu nods. He had tried to run from the mudflats before, to leave everything behind, and yet… he felt as if he should stay. And stay he did, the grime and mud were happy to consume him whole, and he was content with feeding his pearl’s luster.

“I can understand that,” Hong Lu finally finds the words to respond, watching the way the fairy’s head perked up, how his head tilted.

“You can?”

Hong Lu hums in confirmation.

He goes back to curiously asking questions afterward,

“Tell me, what is the forest like?”

“Ah…”

Hong Lu doesn’t get much of a response for a moment, just a simple breath.

“Well… er, before, it used to be nice. I liked laying in the sun and stuff… uh…” the fairy trails off, having lost his train of thought.

He frowns after a moment, “Now… It's all dark. I can’t help but feel as if I’ll be lost forever if I take a wrong turn, no matter how carefully I watch my steps.”

Hong Lu clicked his tongue, “Mn, really? I suppose I can understand that to a degree as well.”

He sighs, his expression that of someone reminiscing a better time.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it? A place you used to know like the back of your hand, is now unfamiliar. It’s changed so much, yet it’s also not changed at all.”

The fairy nods, “Mhm.”

“Is that why you left?” Hong Lu inquires, “Did you not like the change? Was that worthy of your departure?”

“I’m not sure,” the fairy responds, “I- I’m sure I’ll just end up heading back anyway…”

“Are you?”

“Huh?” The fairy lets out a noise of confusion at the question.

“Are you sure?” Hong Lu asks, leaning ever-so-slightly closer.

The fairy fumbles with his words, fidgeting as he attempts to think of a response while he shrank under Hong Lu’s gaze.

“...I’m not sure,” the fairy realizes at last.

“Why do you doubt yourself?” Hong Lu finally cracks another smile, “You can fly to wherever you wish! Surely your wings are big enough to carry you. Don’t fear the unknown if home has become unknown to you anyway! If the forest can change, so can you, right?”

“...” The fairy stares at him, dumbfounded.

“Well… I… I guess you’re right,” he finally stutters out.

“Yes, so what’s stopping you from leaving now? Why do you spend your days ruminating, sitting on a piece of driftwood?”

The quiet returns to separate them, yet words soon find their way to each other.

“I think that… I’m scared of meeting new people.”

It was Hong Lu’s turn to tilt his head in curiosity.

“Really? Perhaps that is also a part of the unknown. Can’t you see the good that could come from it?”

“I-... I can,” the fairy admits, “but I’m afraid of taking the chance, I think.”

“Ah, that’s understandable,” Hong Lu agrees, “it almost always feels like a gamble, doesn’t it? Regardless of how well you know someone, there’s always at least one bone left in their closet.”

The fairy doesn’t respond this time, wings twitching as he makes a sound of understanding.

“Although, regardless of all of that,” Hong Lu continues, “why do you prefer to stay here, of all places in the world we live in? I would think that you would prefer meadows and quaint townships, not this revolting mire.”

The fairy blinks for a second, and Hong Lu can see that uncertainty, that fog, in his uncovered eye again. It’s a familiar sight, one Hong Lu sees in his reflection on the darker days of the year, when the cold settles over the mudflats. The biting cold had always forced him to think more than he would like to; when his tears froze from the cold on the harshest days and nights, his pearl always seemed to shine a little more.

He forces his mind to clear; a clear mind is a clear soul! The less filth… the better, whether it be in mind, soul, or bone.

He focuses back on the fairy on the driftwood when he finally formulates his answer,

“I think-...” the fairy’s cheeks blush a ripe red, “I think I’m staying because… you make good company.”

…

Ah?

Hong Lu can’t help but feel surprised. To think the fairy would stay because of him, disregarding the filth and the loneliness of two souls in a vast land just because of his presence?

There’s a warmth that fills him, perhaps it's blush, perhaps the warmth is just an exaggeration made by his mind.

Yet Hong Lu knows the smile that blooms on his lips was no trick of the mind.

Hong Lu leans in, “Really? Tell me more, please, but only if you wish to do so,” Hong Lu says gently as if he was trying not to startle the one being who stayed long enough to enjoy his existence.

The fairy’s face flushes further at the enthusiastic reaction, his eye darting around in an attempt to escape from Hong Lu’s gaze.

“I- I…” the fairy pauses before resuming, “I can’t explain it well enough right now… I’m sorry,” The words were forced out, a lack of courage mixing with a need to give a proper response.

Hong Lu brushes it off with a smile and a chuckle, “It isn’t a problem. I should be the one apologizing, shouldn’t I? I overwhelmed you. You can answer whenever it comes to you.”

The fairy nods, the courage he used to push out his last response having been depleted.

After that, they simply enjoy each other’s presence.

When the sun finally sets on the mudflats, fiery orange and bashful pink replace the dirty color of the sky, soon to be replaced by the all-seeing stars and moon and the black and blue of what Hong Lu could only fondly refer to as the all-consuming void.

Yet, despite the comfort of the great beyond, Hong Lu lets his gaze wander to the fairy at his side.

In the dark of the night, the glow of his wings drew Hong Lu’s attention. It wasn’t a harsh glow like with bright lights. It was a gentle glow that drew one in, comforted and intrigued by that naive cyan. His fingers reach out, but they back away at the last moment.

Some things aren’t meant to be touched.

Maybe that said something. It wasn’t that he believed himself to be too lowly, too associated and content with dirt and grime to even be in the proximity of that glow.

It was simply that he felt that glow would never be for him.

Those wings would flutter and glow for anyone, he was nobody special. The only things that set him apart were his very existence…

…and his pearl.

The pearl that fed off of him, a parasite. A parasite he couldn’t think of abandoning. Maybe it was because he had it since his earliest years. Maybe it was because he dismissed it as something that couldn’t harm him in any meaningful way.

Many he had met believed his pearl brought fortune and happiness, whether it be those he had to pierce through with his polearm or simply curious passersby.

His pearl brought him no happiness, his pearl brought him no fortune, whether it be of luck or of wealth.

His pearl brought him misery, it brought him misfortune. It fed off every droplet of saline tears he let slip past his eyes. It fed off of his every waking moment, his near insanity, a long time ago. To keep his mind clear was to starve that dastardly thing, so it couldn’t shine proudly whenever he stared into the waters, his reflection without a pearl, warm and welcoming to him.

His hand reaches up to rub at the pearl, feeling its smoothness, its slight heft from its size, a size that would be thought unimaginable, paired with a near-perfect luster.

Regardless of who his company was, regardless of who was passing by or visiting or trying to rip that pearl from his chest, they all stared with the same gaze of admiration. Their eyes filled with envy, desire, anger, all the emotions in between.

Although that gaze wasn’t the only thing they all shared.

They all shared unawareness, although some shared ignorance instead.

They were all unaware of the suffering this pearl caused him, the literal weight on his chest, hoping to one day drag him down and die with him when its weight and size were too much to bear.

Mayhaps if it could dream, it would dream of laying in the filth and muck with him, forcing him down with its weight, whether they be lying side by side, newly wedded, bonded for the rest of his life, forever to be fed off until he was a mere husk; or if it kept him on his back, a flipped over turtle, his fate left to the whims of others. They could peck and dig into his tender underbelly, they could save him and trap him simultaneously, they could give him a peaceful end…

He would cut the pearl off one day if he could. He had grown attached to the parasite ruining his body and mind, chipping away at him when he let small moments of weakness seep through. It was unhappiest when he was content, and that made him both want to smile and weep. They could not exist peacefully together, and that was how it was. No matter how much he admired the pearl’s luster, he was always reminded of how it leeched off of him.

He snaps out of his reverie. Refocusing on the fairy, always perched on the same piece of driftwood.

He notices that the fairy’s head had turned to look at him, he was probably about to reach out, to ask if Hong Lu was okay.

“Ah… my apologies. I appear to have drifted off for a bit,” Hong Lu gives a soft apology, voice softer, more weak than usual.

The fairy nods warily.

Hong Lu wonders what he thinks about. Does he think about the forest, does he think about someone special? Does he think about the terror of the unknown, where he shall go when he decides those wonderful wings are fated to take him elsewhere, to abandon Hong Lu to lie in the filth, without that comforting glow to ground him?

Hong Lu hopes he doesn’t leave anytime soon, he hopes that maybe, just maybe, he will stay a little longer than the few months they’ve already had together.

Even if he did leave, Hong Lu would know the fairy would be someone he would never forget, every single detail of his would be committed to his memory, so maybe, if he ever had a peaceful dream, he could imagine that he was there with him, able to comfort him with only his presence.

From the cotton balls on his shoes to the embroidered eye-like shapes hidden beneath the teal of his cloak up to the branches that held cotton over one of his ears and covered one of his eyes, Hong Lu would remember everything, to make sure that even if he did leave, he wouldn’t feel alone whilst wallowing in the mudflats, where jade became icky green once he arrived.

And yet, his gaze doesn’t linger much longer, drifting off to the spilled inkwell of the night sky. Hong Lu thinks that, if he could, he could make some neat calligraphy with it. Even if his skills were most likely a bit rusty from lack of use.

Would the fairy enjoy calligraphy? If so, would it be the activity or being gifted a delicately written scroll, every stroke done with meaning and intent, a craft that takes both heart and skill? Maybe poetry struck his fancy more, but usually, poetry and calligraphy go hand-in-hand anyway.

Hong Lu hums in contentment. One day, if he gets to do calligraphy again, he’ll make one for the fairy too.

Hong Lu finds himself dozing off. Despite everything, sleep comes easier to him most nights in the mudflats compared to other places he’s been to, whether it be on sand or otherwise.

Hong Lu’s eyelids grow heavy, and he falls into slumber. Whether it would be a dream or a nightmare is not his to decide.

His dream starts in the mire; it rarely ever deviates. It was almost lifelike enough to fool him.

Almost.

The only discrepancy was that the sky was blue instead of dirty grey-green.

The fairy stood before him, a wonderful smile on that face of his.

Yet despite everything, that expression only made Hong Lu feel a tiresome dread, an expectation of the unfortunate.

That was the expression of departure, a fond farewell meant to burn itself into Hong Lu’s memory, meant to melt that waxen heart of his and destroy him.

Hong Lu doesn’t like that he’s so desperate to keep the fairy by his side. He deserved no suffering, he didn’t deserve to be dragged down, forced to try and struggle to thrive in the mud and the dirt with only Hong Lu as his company.

Hong Lu doesn’t like that he’s not ready to let him go, not ready to let him fly off to greener pastures, his glow disappearing alongside him.

The words he had to say were trapped in his throat.

Was he holding himself back, or did he have no words to say in the first place?

This was supposed to be his dream, but never could he change it willingly. The illusions always seemed out of his control, they never failed to obscure the truth when they wished to do so, and they never failed to blur the lines of real and unreal. Maybe, at this point, there was no truth. Maybe fiction is the truth.

To Hong Lu’s credit, he has no idea what the truth looks like.

Perhaps he was fated to amble blindly, vaguely searching for the truth. Regardless of how blind and deaf he was in his lame pursuits, every cut would sting the same, dirt welcoming itself into his being, nestling itself in his hair, in every scar and cut.

It would never come off once it got the chance to cling to him.

To the filth, he was inhuman. A simple vessel, a nest for the desperate microorganisms that yearn to be born as something useful, to enjoy the pleasures of the red dust.

This wasn’t the first time he had been in a situation such as this. He’s not entirely sure what the last instance of such a terrible existence plagued him, but he feels that it’s happened before.

A muffled voice brings his attention back to the fairy, back to his dream, his illusion.

Hong Lu hates looking at that expression of his.

“I- I think it’s time I left. You’re right, there’s… there’s good in taking chances with the unknown.”

He turns, looking over his shoulder as his wings flutter, a silent farewell. Or maybe it was a taunt. Hong Lu would accept both answers.

“Wait,” Hong Lu finally manages to get out a single word. A plea.

“Is… something wrong?” The fairy asks.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to stay a little longer, right?”

Hong Lu’s voice was weak, the slightest tremor trapped within.

“...” The fairy stays silent.

All of a sudden, Hong Lu feels like he can’t breathe. This is all a dream, an illusion, a trick of the mind, yet he reacts like it's real. The long-gone blue sky watches from Hong Lu’s imagination, mocking his weakness.

“You told me to no longer fear the unknown,” the fairy frowns, “so why are you urging me to stay?”

Hong Lu can’t answer.

“Which is it?” the fairy asks, “Do I stay, or do I go?”

“Please stay,” Hong Lu finally begs outright, “I’ll give you anything.”

“...Anything?” The fairy’s voice repeats, curious.

Hong Lu is once again reminded that this is all but a dream when he sees that look of ill intent he hadn’t seen on the fairy’s face before. The lilt in his voice, false innocence, a cornerstone of manipulation. It resembled scenes in the novels he used to read, the reveal of deception.

Yet he can’t help but nod, mind unable to catch up with his mouth; the quick wit he had always been praised for being outrun by a smooth tongue,

“Anything.”

The fairy’s usually uneasy face, those bitten lips, split into a smile.

“Give me your heart then. Prove to me… that you really, truly, want me to stay.”

Hong Lu glances at him in surprise. He doesn’t know why some of his blood rushes to his face, displaying a blush under his pale skin.

Hong Lu stares down at his own chest, a gloved hand resting over his heart, obstructed by his clothing and flesh.

Before he understands what he’s doing, the sharpened shell piece he fashioned as his polearm’s blade is pointed at his flesh through his clothing, and there’s a cry of pain. He felt warmth, but not the kind of warmth that cradled one’s soul and comforted an aching, heavy heart. The kind of warmth that grows warmer, not like the warmth of love; instead, it was the all-consuming heat of being burned. The air in his lungs leaves him as he gasps, barely able to stand the pain when he rips the shell out of himself.

The fairy doesn’t look away, and that unimpressed look in his eyes, as if expecting more, makes Hong Lu smile, a sense of strange nostalgia washing over him. No matter where he was, in a dream or a nightmare, reality or lost in the throes of fiction, there would always be expectations peering over his shoulder…

The split flesh, cruelly sliced, bled.

When his eyes could not cry, his flesh would sob in his stead.

One of his hands worsens the pain by digging into the wound, searching through himself as if rummaging through a pouch.

…

He feels nothing, nothing besides wet, warm blood and flesh as the metallic scent invades his senses.

Where had his heart gone?

He can’t control the way his legs give out, the murky green of his clothing stained with crimson slowly drying into an unclean brown.

He stares at the fairy, he stares right into his eye. He had the desperation, the fear belonging to a man being punished by the gods, eyes wide, hopeless.

“It’s gone,” he whispers, breath shaky, “It’s… gone…”

He collapses finally, one of his cheeks meeting the sand as he bleeds out.

Despite his anguish, his suffering at his discovery that he did not have a heart, Hong Lu found himself unable to cry.

For every tear unshed, his blood would respond a hundredfold as he grew light-headed.

This was no longer a dream, for it had the pain of a midwinter nightmare.

Not long after, that lovely cyan glow, that gentle teal cloak, kneels in front of his limp form.

He glances up at that soft face that, in reality, had only looked at him tenderly, with an unspoken kindness from someone with few words to say.

And he sees just that. That soft eye, filled with something Hong Lu could only describe as mercy.

“...It isn’t gone,” the fairy said, reaching under the first layer of his cloak, retrieving Hong Lu’s heart as if it was simply a magic trick.

There was no indication that heart was Hong Lu’s, but Hong Lu trusted the feeling in his gut, the feeling that was his heart, for it let itself rest in the hands of another, letting them see it beat.

“Do you wish for me to return it?” The fairy asked softly.

Hong Lu blinks, growing more delirious every second. He didn’t understand why he was still bleeding out, it was as if this nightmare, this dream, an amalgam of both, refused to let him die until he saw it all through.

“...” Hong Lu stays quiet, thinking as best he could in his current state.

“No,” he answers, lips quirking into his usual smile, calm and content.

“Would you rather I keep it?” The fairy asked.

“My heart is yours,” Hong Lu nods, “what is mine is yours.”

“Are you sure?” The fairy double-checks with him, expression growing a bit confused, “You don’t know my name, I don’t know yours either, but you’re willing to give yourself to me?”

“...Mn, yes. I don’t have any reservations that I can think of.”

The fairy’s expression softens. It was not pity, nor was it disappointment.

Sadness. That’s what it was.

“I… I feel guilty to take so much from you, let me give you something of my own.”

Hong Lu watches the fairy’s bloodied hand pick up Hong Lu’s dropped polearm, letting the sharpened shell pierce into him as well, blood mixing with blood, true union.

…Hong Lu feels an inexplicable feeling of contentment at the sight when his polearm is messily ripped out and dropped in front of him.

The fairy’s hand delves into his wound just as Hong Lu’s did to his own.

But unlike Hong Lu, he finds something.

He pulls out his own heart successfully and lets it lay in front of Hong Lu’s bloody chest, staining his pearl before he lies with him. They were separated only by the polearm and the weakness of their failing bodies. Yet even then, it was all something they shared, blood, weakness, their hearts. Unifying them in ways Hong Lu could have never considered.

The fairy gives him a calm smile,

“Now, we are each other’s.”

Hong Lu numbly nods, his hand cradling the heart bestowed upon him.

“Will we love like this outside of this land of illusion? Or will this forever be a mere dream?”

The fairy- no, the version of the fairy that his mind had concocted, the fairy in his dreams’ eyes close, and he lets out a breath,

“We’ll decide that when you wake up,” those saccharine words taste bitter on Hong Lu’s tongue, even if he was not the one uttering them.

“Okay,” Hong Lu murmurs, eyes closing, succumbing to death and love simultaneously. A strange pleasure washes over him as three tender words follow him into the depths of unconsciousness.

“I love you,” utters the voice left in the void.

His eyes open, and the sight of the grey-green sky lets him confirm that he's no longer dreaming.

Although before he had noticed the sky, he noticed a familiar face full of worry, its related body hunched over his form.

“O-Oh! You’re okay! Good… I was getting worried,” Hong Lu watches the fairy smile awkwardly, backing off.

“I’m flattered that I managed to worry you,” Hong Lu chuckles back, his expression softer than ever as he sits up.

“Ah… w-well…” the fairy starts, but Hong Lu stops him.

“Before we get to anything else, I must ask a vital question,” he nods.

“A… question? Er… okay,” the fairy agrees.

“What’s your name?” Hong Lu asks, “We’ve been existing together all these months, and not once have we uttered each other’s names. I think that it’s better to do it late than to do it never.”

“Oh! I… I never realized that…” The fairy sighs, cheeks blushing with awkwardness.

“My name is… Sinclair.”

Hong Lu grins,

“Well then, it’s wonderful to meet you, Sinclair,” he holds out his hand, “I’m Hong Lu.”

The fai- Sinclair’s hand shakes his, and Hong Lu’s chest feels with an indescribable warmth, he doesn’t dare try to resist the smile that rests on his lips, his waxen heart soft, yet still keeping shape.

He wishes to tell Sinclair about his dream, their shared hearts, the union of their blood, but it felt like no moment was correct.

He didn’t wish to keep silent, even if it came to him in a dream, a mere scenario of the mind, an illusion.

Sinclair wasn’t the Sinclair in his dreams, Hong Lu knew that.

Sinclair probably didn’t feel the same. Hong Lu considered that.

Sinclair’s current friendship could end because of this. Hong Lu was willing to risk that.

He was never one to keep quiet, regardless of the situation.

He didn’t wish to hide from Sinclair either. Most of his skeletons remained in his closet, but he’d like to have as few of them hidden from Sinclair as possible. The trust he feels, the safety of his secrets that he feels with Sinclair, is most likely unmeasured by anyone who isn’t his older sister or some of the other women in his family.

Besides, this involves Sinclair anyway. He was in that dream, he deserves to know, regardless of how… interesting that dream was.

If it was simply an average dream, perhaps Hong Lu wouldn’t be reacting in such a way.

But this dream felt special to him, he felt connected to it. It spoke to him in that strange, pain-filled way, and yet he held that pain close to him, his heart beating with a determination that he occasionally felt.

Hong Lu idles about for a few more days, overthinking and overcomplicating something so simple on parchment yet so difficult in execution.

He finds himself getting tongue-tied every time he tries to speak, every time he tries to bring it up. A rarely seen nervousness nestles into his heart. He knows that there was a risk to it, he had spent some of his undeniably finite days thinking long and hard, and yet he continued to doubt himself.

Although it seemed on one day in particular, Sinclair solved his problem.

“Hong Lu,” Sinclair starts, waiting for Hong Lu’s eyes to focus on him, “Uh… I- I wanted to ask… if you’re okay?”

…Huh?

Hong Lu blinks, “How come?”

Sinclair’s fingers played around with a loose thread on his cloak whilst he struggled to get his words out,

“You seem troubled. I- I just wanted to make sure it isn’t anything concerning…”

Hong Lu realizes the opportunity he’d been blessed with, the chance to finally air out his thoughts, his dream, and their union.

And so, he explains. From beginning to end, life to death.

Sinclair, despite his initial bewilderment, listens attentively.

There are no words, either positive or negative, to describe the silence that came afterward.

“...Was that a dream, or a nightmare?” Sinclair tries to alleviate the tension, “I-It seemed incredibly painful. Was I really that… er… cruel to you?”

Hong Lu lets his hand have a mind of its own, he lets it move to hold Sinclair’s hand.

“I think in the beginning it was a nightmare, but the end was that of a dream,” he explains gently, “I don’t believe you were cruel,” he adds, “I think you were bestowing upon me a mercy I have sparsely known.”

“...Mercy?” Sinclair asks in astonishment.

“Yes, mercy,” Hong Lu nods, “you could have left me to bleed out, keeping my heart without giving anything in return, yet you exchanged hearts with me, our blood mixed, souls wedded as we died together with our silent vows completed. Death is sweetest with company, just like misery.”

“...” Sinclair stares for a moment, taking a moment to process those words.

“The heart that beats in my chest as of now no longer feels like my own,” Hong Lu’s hand holds Sinclair’s tighter, a gaze softer than the suffocated sun in the winter’s dying light, “do you feel that change, or is this another trick of my mind?”

Hong Lu’s hand brings Sinclair’s to his chest, letting his heart speak feelings his words could not articulate in the way he wished.

“Truth and illusion are one and the same. The only difference is one’s perception of them,” Hong Lu continued, “tell me, what do you see in me, what do you feel? Are we destined in the way my mind has painted for me, a man who cannot draw as well as he writes and recites prose?”

“My mind is plagued with lust, not the kind of carnal heat, it’s the kind of feeling that threatens to blind my senses and leave my soul bared for the taking, a weakness to all except the one I have surrendered myself to.”

“I’m sure you don’t feel the same lust of the mind as I do,” Hong Lu admits, “but could you grace me with a single answer to satisfy the curiosity that is currently nesting in my mind?”

“Could you answer my question of whether or not you consider this a weakness too, as all others do?” Hong Lu finishes, his eyes shining with an anticipation brighter than any luster his pearl could boast,

“Please, be honest to me.”

Sinclair stayed quiet for a long while, his eye glancing around, wings twitching nervously. A familiar blush flowers on his face, and he makes up his mind.

“...I don’t think it’s a weakness,” Sinclair’s voice is firm and clear, full of a certainly had never heard from him before, “if you’re weak for... for loving me, then what am I for realizing my love for you now?”

It fills Hong Lu with an overwhelming relief. The kind of relief that’s brought by the first morning of spring, refreshing, full of life and warmth as he leans in,

“If a being as magnificent as you can be punished for loving, then there must have been a mistake along the way. Perhaps you were given the fate of another.”

“Maybe,” Sinclair nods, his free hand moving to hold Hong Lu’s, thumbing it through the other’s gloves.

Hong Lu admires that expression, softer than silken sheets and perhaps even the immature green buds on the branch of knowledge that had been extended towards him, enlightening him, reminding him that there was more to life than filth and grime and stinging cuts.

“Could I feel your heartbeat as well?” Hong Lu asks, gently parting the loving silence with a whisper, “I’m sure our hearts have been traded without a doubt, but I wish to feel it for myself.”

“Y-Yes, you may,” Sinclair complies, guiding Hong Lu’s hand to his own heart.

“...Do you feel anything at all?” He asks gently.

Sinclair’s heartbeat was a gentle thing, weak, yet filled with a passion that stirred the leisurely waters of Hong Lu’s soul. He takes a long moment to just take the sensation in, every bump and thump that he feels under his gloved fingers.

He takes a moment before he replies, voice lovingly gentle, “Of course I do,” he smiles knowingly, “I can recognize my own heart anywhere,” well, he couldn’t, but he felt as if he could tell.

Even if their hearts were not traded, even if everything they felt was simply a trick of their minds, they still belonged to each other.

“That’s good,” Sinclair lets out a breath of relief.

They sit in silence, watching the sun slowly disappear under the horizon. The stars shined brighter tonight, a congratulation from beyond the great inkwell of the void, the moon blessing them with a full view of its visage.

“Hong Lu,” Sinclair speaks up, drawing his attention.

“Is anything the matter?” Hong Lu questions curiously.

“Do you remember when you asked me to elaborate on why I think you’re good company?” Sinclair inquires.

“I do,” Hong Lu’s hand thumbs over Sinclair’s idly, their fingers intertwined, “have you found your answer?”

“I think so…?” Sinclair says, voice laced with slight confusion, “At least, I think I have.”

“Would you mind telling me then?” Hong Lu leans closer, eyes shining with intrigue.

Sinclair obliges, “I was planning to a-anyway…”

His free hand fidgets with his cloak, “I mainly just enjoy talking to you, but I feel there’s something else.”

Sinclair pauses, taking a moment to finalize his words, “I feel… like all of this, your dream, everything we’ve done and said, I feel like this was predestined, don’t you? Like we were being nudged closer together by fate. You’re more, er, well-versed in these kinds of things, so maybe I’m just speaking nonsense, but…”

Sinclair falls quiet, Hong Lu can tell his mind is swimming with thoughts. That pensive expression on his face was a familiar one.

While he waited for Sinclair’s response, he took some time of his own to contemplate his lover’s words.

Hong Lu feels inclined to agree. Everything seemed predetermined in a way, the strings of fate intertwined and ultimately brought them together. Hong Lu usually had a distaste for pre-planned things, especially if they were something he couldn’t control, something he wasn’t aware of. There were exceptions of course, like his fate with Sinclair.

Usually, Hong Lu went along with fate. But there were times when he tugged and pulled and snapped at destiny, desperate to change the unchangeable, to undo that which must be done. It never truly worked in the way he wished for it to be, but perhaps that was his punishment for attempting to defy that which was carved in stone and written in blood, a prophecy written by others for him.

Yet he still somewhat believed in fate, and he didn’t regret it, especially not now. What must be done shall be done.

Every dream he’s had over the years, every idealized world he had imagined when it all went awry, all of them had such small, simple changes. Changes that, despite their size, were too outlandish for destiny to let go and nudge his fate forward to the life he had dreamed of long ago. Back to where the skies he saw were blue, back when his robes were green, and the sash around his waist was red. The only filth surrounding him back then was the unsavoriness hidden inside some of the people he knew.

To say he looked back when he finally left is a statement unable to be proven by nobody but the higher powers.

Despite the helplessness his pearl evokes within him as it feeds off his struggles, despite how his life was before Sinclair came along, Hong Lu can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the occasional free-spirited winds that visit the mudflats, unrestrained at times in the best ways.

Now, he had Sinclair. And he’d never had more of an incentive to stay, more of an incentive to enjoy the unknown.

Loneliness isn’t something Hong Lu enjoys. Maybe it was because it traps him in his mind, the calm waters of his soul plagued by a tempest that wishes to ruin what he is.

It was most likely why his time in the mudflats before Sinclair came along was so miserable.

His mind, like his mouth, always tended to run on. Regardless of the wit and prose it bestows upon him, it always seems to bite him back when his tortured form lies in the arms of solitude.

Yet now he had Sinclair to ground him, to silence the thoughts that wracked his very being and wished to eat him alive. Sinclair calmed him, teal and gold and cyan, embroidery and strands and chitin. Hands that hold him, wings that distract him, ears that listen to him, eyes that focus on him, feet that attempt to keep pace with him…

Maybe the easiest way to word it was that Sinclair was what kept him sane.

Even if it wasn’t the kind of sanity one would expect, for many would argue that the sanity of a person in love isn’t sanity at all.

Although love didn’t necessarily need to be sane. The existence of passion and its all-consuming fervor was the kind that ignored the world, whether ‘the world’ meant the sweltering heat of the summer or the rime of winter that formed on his coat…

“I don’t think you’re speaking nonsense,” Hong Lu responds at last, not allowing his thoughts to run on, “nonsense is a key trait of fate. There’s no such thing as nonsense in this world of ours, don’t you think?”

Sinclair nods, “You have a point…” he murmurs in agreement.

“Absurdity is a given in this world of ours. If it can be understood by someone, then is it truly nonsense?” Hong Lu adds.

Sinclair doesn’t answer, giving himself time to contemplate Hong Lu’s words.

“I-... hm… I guess not.” Sinclair shakes his head gently to accompany his answer, “T-That doesn’t mean others’ opinions on it don’t matter though,” he mutters, still a bit unsure.

Hong Lu can’t help but laugh a bit, “Sinclair, my dear heart! Do you see anyone before us, any being conscious enough to count as ‘others’?”

Sinclair knows the answer is no, but he takes a cursory look around just in case. He sees nothing in the vastness of the mudflats, nobody to disturb them or judge them.

“No?” Sinclair responds hesitantly.

“Exactly! There’s nothing to fear then! We may do as we wish, for there are no eyes upon us, no one to judge any follies we make,” Hong Lu beams.

“You retreat into yourself more than you realize, Sinclair,” Hong Lu leans in, “let yourself out of the grip of fear. Let yourself enjoy the virtues of mundane life, regardless of vicissitudes we may stumble into.”

Hong Lu leans a bit further, pecking the one to whom he has surrendered himself; his soul more bare than he was on the day of his birth, “After all, the joys of life are found in others.”

He watches fondly as a blush forms on Sinclair’s gentle face, a feeling that Hong Lu could only describe as contentment washes over him.

“Not to mention that I’ll always be at your side. The two of us will weather any storm that comes our way, anything that dares to tear us apart despite our union of blood,” Hong Lu’s smile softens as he says those words, every syllable, every phoneme overflowing with what could only be described as unbridled affection.

Sinclair’s hands hold Hong Lu’s tighter as he nods, trusting and firm.

“Let’s enjoy our time together,” Hong Lu whispers against his lips, giving Sinclair another kiss before finally pulling back.

He stands up, stretching for a moment before he looks back at Sinclair, still sitting on that piece of driftwood he had always preferred over the rest.

“The nights are short in the summer, let’s make the most out of the ones we have left, yes?”

Sinclair nods, and Hong Lu commits the gentle smile on Sinclair’s face to his memory.

And so they walk along the shore, hand-in-hand.

The pearl on Hong Lu’s chest that usually shined with an arrogant luster has turned dull. Hong Lu’s chest feels lighter. The weight that used to pull him down, the weight that used to feed off of him, releases him from its clutches, starved.

Hong Lu felt freer than ever, in mind, body, and soul.